The Thing with the Suit
by ReformGirl
Summary: Tseng is on a new mission, which contains a dusty old man, 50 suits and a lot of impertinence.


A. N.: This is my first time fanfictioning. My plan was to read fanfcition. Maybe to comment them. Not to make them. But as usual, if Loren demands asks for something I can't say no.

And, as I saw it in many other stories, I own nothing, no characters, no universe, no money, not even the idea (because it's Loren's).

The Thing with the Suit

Useless. Adjective - not fulfilling or not expected to achieve the intended purpose or desired outcome.

There was a time Tseng didn't use that word. It didn't fit in his resource-oriented life. Everything and everyone was useful.

Elena for example. She seemed useless as a Turk and a lot of people thought that only her „vitamin B" got her into this exclusive group of ShinRa employees. But it was a fact that she was a valuable office worker. She was almost as good as Tseng. A living rule book, working her ass off. And besides, she was athletic. She just needed more time than others to mature and Tseng was sure that, one day, she'll also be a good associate for outdoor missions.

But today he didn't know how to describe what was sitting in front of him. There was only one word he had in mind and it repeated itself, like an old and broken record.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

There was no other word for his situation.

Tseng didn't spare a thought about seeing this shop again. With its dusty shelves, its dusty tools and its dusty owner. It was a shop full of chaos, dirt and a smell which made one think of ones old aunt, who always kissed and pinched ones cheeks. Certainly Tseng didn't come here for that. No, he came because its dusty owner was a genius.

„Ack – ack – ack!" The rough laughing of the dusty owner filled the room. „So you came here to order another 50 suits? What happened to the others?"

„Work." was Tseng's only reply.

„Talkative as always, eh? It took me and my team 4 whole months to sew them. I thought after that I'd never have to see your stern face again. And yet, here you are, telling me to sew another 50 suits."

„If I could choose I would have another 50 suits in my closet. But you refused to tailor more than 50, if my memory serves me right."

„Ack – ack – ack!" Again the rough and weird laughing. After all this time it still was the only thing not dusty in this shop. „And sharp as always! But did your sharpness also consider my handicap?" The dusty owner waved his right arm, which ended at the wrist.

„At least it didn't escape my notice." In fact Tseng couldn't help but to stare at the arm stump for the last 10 minutes.

„Then I also think you considered that I can't tailor your suits anymore, eh?"

„Well, I did hope you could contact your old team and instruct them." It took a lot of strength to keep the cool and emotionless face. Indeed, it was Tseng's last hope.

„How many shops did you try before you came here?" The dusty owner gave him an amused look, as if he knew the answer before Tseng had time to think.

After a short while thinking about what to answer, Tseng decided to understate a little. „Seven." That was a good number, enough to show that he did consider to turn to another shop, but still too little to make him look desperate. And gosh, he was desperate. Something nobody, especially not the dusty owner, was allowed to know.

„Ack – ack – ack! You are lying. Funny, you still think you can deceive me. I tailored 50 suits for you. It's like we are married. Ack – ack – ack!"

Sixteen years ago, when Tseng first met the dusty owner, he would've been horrified by this remark. And even though he only went to see him from time to time (last time was five years ago) he still remembered the weird kind of humour the tailor had. Today he could only massage his temples and give an annoyed huff.

„So, you rob me off the illusion to never see you again, demand the undoable and now you even take the fun of teasing you. What a bad guest you are."

Tseng still tried to remain calm. „I am not your guest. I am your customer."

„Ack – ack – ack! And a very rude one, if I may be honest."

This conversation turned into something Tseng couldn't classify anymore. And things which he couldn't classify didn't exist. In fact it was the first time Tseng didn't know what to do. His headache got heavier every minute he spent in this dusty shop, the dusty owner obviously had fun teasing him and the worst was he couldn't leave. Or hit the owner. Or just burn this damn shop with all its dust to ashes. The cruel truth was he needed the weird tailor. So he had no choice but to stay and hope that there was something which could make this man change his mind.

„Well, then let's get back to business. Or, like we in my old village say, butter to the fish!

Ack – ack – ack! I already laughed about that sentence when I was a rug rat!" The tailor slapped his left thigh, trying to breath while laughing.

„Yes. Very funny." Tseng replied dryly.

After the laughing flash, which lasted for 4 minutes and 36 seconds, the dusty owner finally was able to talk again.

„Okay then, how much would you be willing to pay?"

Tseng was slightly surprised. In a good way. Which happened once a year. He thought that he would have do a lot more of persuading. But when the dusty owner asked he didn't have to think about the answer. Because that was a territory he knew well. Business was his arena and he was the best gladiator in it. And of course he thought about that over a week ago. He wanted to start with a little bit and would go slowly higher, acting like every price the owner named would be an effrontery.

„1.000 Gil. Per suit."

„AAAAAAAACK – ack – ack – ack – ack – ack – ack!" The volume of the laughter was ripping his eardrums. „Try again!"

After a few seconds pretending to think about the price Tseng answered in a voice which the people who knew him well would classify as „generous".

„2.000 Gil."

This time the dusty owner gave just a dusty giggle. He had a knowing expression and Tseng realised he was far away from making a good price.

„I know you would be willing to pay only that much. But let me ask differently this time: How much is it worth to you ?"

That was indeed a question Tseng wasn't prepared for. He never thought of the value of his suits. He needed them. That was a hard fact. And the dusty owner in his dusty shop with his dusty team tailored the best suits. Was it fair to demand 50 more suits from a person who would have great difficulties in rounding up his old mates, work and instruct with only one hand for a mere 2.000 Gil? Probably not. Of course Tseng would have to subtract at least 2.500 Gil for the bad, disturbing, annoying personality of the owner. But even then it would be far more than 2.000 Gil per suit.

Then now was the time to go all in.

„10.000 Gil per suit. That is my last offer."

„Ahhhh, now we are talking, eh? I think that will be fine. But I want the payment beforehand.

Ack – ack – ack! Don't gimme that look! I know you carry your cheque book always around. And I suppose a smart youngster like you has some savings."

Tseng still didn't give up his stern face. In his mind he went through all possibilities and backdoors the owner could take.

„It's not about the money. It's about trust. You did try to trick me a few times."

„Hee – hee. I didn't try - I did. That is a fine difference."

The vein near his brow pulsated unpleasently heavy. He knew it was only to provoke him, to tease him, to draw out some kind of emotion or weakness. Years ago he could fight back. But this time he was desperate. And even though he tried not to reveal that, the dusty owner fully knew. And he also knew that Tseng didn't have another possibility. No ace up his sleeve. No backddor. Nothing. Tseng had to surrender. It happened just a few times in his life. These times were important times. Times when he had to decide between life and death. He didn't regret one of them, he did what he had to do. None of these defeats ever hurt him, yeah he didn't even classify them as defeats.

Not this time. He didn't have the choice between living and dying. He didn't have to decide which loss would be worse. There was no threatening danger. No mastermind who tried to trick him. It was just an old dusty man. With just one dusty hand. And he had no choice but to accept that.

With his vein pulsating even heavier than before he took out his cheque book. He wrote down the sum of money. He tried to give the owner a death glare while giving him the piece of paper. And realised he stopped breathing. Starting to breathe again he tried to save at least some of pride, which was shattered all on the ground.

„I suppose you will take 4 months to let them sew. Since you have to gather everyone I suppose you need two more weeks. After that I will come back and for every undone suit you owe me one more."

„Ack – ack – ack – ack – ack! Finally you are back to normal! For a moment I thought you lost your inner Tsengness there."

He didn't even ask. He knew he would regret that question.

He turned around to leave the dusty shop. But the owner stopped him.

„Before you leave, could you do me a favor, eh?"

Turning around again he gave the dusty old man an asking look.

„Eeeeh, that closet over there. Please get me my stuff which is in there. I'm gonna need it."

Tseng took a deep breath, turned around, went to the dusty closet and opened it. And gasped. And turned around before even thinking about his face.

AAAAACK – ACK – ACK – ACK – ACK – ACK – ACK! I wish I had one of those picture capturing machines! Your face just now was the best thing ever happening in my life! ACK –

ACK – ACK – ACK – ACK!"

Tseng lost. Really bad. He didn't just lose in his arena. He lost in every arena possible. The invincible gladiator tricked and beaten. By an old dusty man. With one dusty hand.

They hang in the closet, his 50 suits.


End file.
